


sneak: 15

by clab



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: 'ah yes. a sugar daddy ripe for the taking', Minor Violence, Original Character - Freeform, Original Male Character - Freeform, Ruth Hannigan (Lone Wanderer), bad decision making, ruth gets decked in the face and thinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 17:58:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clab/pseuds/clab
Summary: The terminal displayed a Locked! screen and Ruth felt a rush of irritation course through him. He didn’t have the passcode. Drumming his fingers along the keys, eyeing the screen, his attention turns towards the cabinet to his left. Moriarty couldn’t be that stupid, could he?Creaky footsteps make their way over to it. The doors jiggle when tugged, but don’t open. Ruth’s fingers twitch in- excitement? Relief? He doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure Moriarty really is that stupid.Four more bobby pins and the password is “lotsacaps”, because of course it is.





	sneak: 15

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my good friend Daisy's fic [Angel Face](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12526400). Go give it a read!
> 
> ft my LW Ruth Hannigan, a short, dumb asshole who makes mistakes and will continue to consistently.  
> wasteland is scary, man.  
> Ending is pretty rough but tbh i couldn't find a way to make it better (i didnt try too hard either. alas.)

The night was something he was still getting used to.

Sure, the lights in the vault turned off at a strict 9pm, growing dim an hour before that, but it wasn’t like this. The air cooler, brushing his hair against his face and making him jump. Distant sounds of some above ground bugs. He’d seen a spider in the vault, a beetle here and there, but never this much, never heard them this much, making sounds in unison, reminding him of those orchestra holotapes.

It was nice.

The residents of Megaton retired at different times of the night. The sun didn’t work like the vault. It was full of colors, casting the wasteland in an orange glow, growing darker and brighter at the same time, before the orange was replaced with blue and it grew dark. It took time. It was pretty.

Amata would love it.

The steel under his feet creaked as Ruth passed over the top of Doc Church’s clinic. He’d met the man his first night out of the vault, woke him up, _I-I heard… Lu-Lucas Simms said y-you could…_ and Doc Church had groaned, sat up, bones cracking along with the squeaking of his bed, regarding Ruth’s bloody face, gashed open from a spill down the cliffside in front of the Vault, shaking hands barely keeping his grip on his baseball bat, and shook his head. Mumbled something about _fucking cowboys… what do I look like…_ but had sat Ruth down and patched him up.

The wounds were still fresh, hidden under bandages, dotted with blood. The entire left side of his face was a collection of bruises, curling around his skull, black around his eye and cheekbone, softening into purples along his lips, then growing black again around his jaw.

No one around here cast him a second glance over it. Some would laugh, ask him how the other guy was.

_Least you’re alive, huh_ _?_

It was so different from the vault.

He passes by Craterside Supply, casting a quick glance at the structure. Moira was nice, even if she was annoying. Not the type of person he ever expected to meet on the surface. He had expected monsters, people willing to slice open his throat and drink his blood for fun. He had been right, sure, but Moira was… someone he expected to meet down in the vault. He had asked her. If she was from a vault, like him. There was no way she was so happy to have lived up here all her life. He didn’t believe it.

But she had laughed.

_Oh, look at you, a kidder! No, I wasn’t born in no_ vault! _Canterbury Commons is where I’m from! Do you know where that is? Of course not, what am I saying, haha! It’s west of here. Hmm, I should go visit sometime._

He stopped listening after that.

Maybe she was just defective. Just slightly. Like Andy, except human.

The smell of the men’s room makes Ruth gag as he rounds behind it, pulling up the collar of his jumpsuit, eyes stinging with tears. The smell is another thing. The vault never smelled like…

Like _this_.

Up top, everything smells. Faintly of vinegar, oddly enough, and the overwhelming stank of B.O. and _shit_.

The first time he came near the bathrooms he puked. And the second time. And the third.

This was his sixth and _maybe_ he’d be fine.

Fumbling with his bobby pins, Ruth kneels in front of the back door to Moriarty’s. He’d never been the best at lockpicking. Mr. Lewis had been nice enough to try and teach him a few times, but Ruth always broke the bobby pins. He ended up giving up on it.

Now he was trying to wrack his brain into remembering those lessons. Three bobby pins later he was gritting his teeth, and after the fourth, fifth, sixth, he sat back, took a deep breath, and loosened his jaw. The throbbing in his jaw traveled up along the bruises on his face, settling painfully against his temple. He had to remember that it hurt to grit his teeth like that.

Seventh time’s a charm.

The door creaked open, enough for him to peak in to see if anybody is lingering around the back room. The door to the saloon was open, the bar abandoned, radio off, Gob nowhere to be seen, retired to bed. It only made sense. It was late. The sun would be rising within the next few hours.

Ruth slipped in slowly on clumsy feet, ones that step on all the wrong spots, the metal groaning underneath his weight. He’s not the best at sneaking around, he knows, but Megaton is always groaning. No one should notice.

The door clicks shut behind him.

The terminal displayed a _Locked!_ screen and Ruth felt a rush of irritation course through him, making the throbbing in his head increase, spreading along the back of his skull. He didn’t have the passcode. Drumming his fingers along the keys, eyeing the screen, his attention turns towards the cabinet to his left. Moriarty couldn’t be _that_ stupid, could he?

Creaky footsteps make their way over to it. The doors jiggle when tugged, but don’t open. Ruth’s fingers twitch in- excitement? Relief? He doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure Moriarty really _is_ that stupid.

Four more bobby pins and the password is “lotsacaps” _,_ because of course it is.

The terminal opens with a small _beep!_. Ruth grins.

The _Residents_ section is all but useless to him, as is the _Tabs_ section. The only name he recognizes is Doc Church’s, and he has no idea what _Paradise Falls_ is.

The  _Vistors_ section makes his heart skip a beat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Moriarty wasn’t going to tell him about where James had gone. Ruth had gone out to collect the caps from Silver, but had gotten ambushed by some Mole Rats on the way. Then a group of laughing, cursing, screaming Raiders who shot at him as he scrambled back to Megaton, tail between his legs and threatening to burst into tears.

So, here he was.

An entire entry on James. He _had_ been here. How long after he left did Ruth show up? Just a few hours, probably. He’d been _right_ behind him.

Moriarty deserved a punch in the fucking nose.

Ruth had heard of Galaxy News Radio, of Three Dog. He knew it was far, somewhere dangerous, and a wave of dread shook him to the bones. The idea of going out there was terrifying. A quick, shaken breath through his nose, loud, and he bit the inside of his lip to calm down. At least Ruth knew where he was, now. He’d run into him soon.

A creak made him freeze, wait, listen, but there was nothing that followed it, so Ruth allowed himself to breathe after a full minute.

There was still more to the terminal entry. It made Ruth pause.

He had truly thought Moriarty had been lying. That the man made of up a stupid tale about meeting James years ago just to fuck with him. Moriarty seemed the type to do that, just for kicks. Hell, Ruth was that type.

But Moriarty had no reason to lie on his own, personal terminal that Ruth was never supposed to see.

He sat there a long time.

The rustling of clothes made his entire body jerk to the left, the hair on the back of his neck standing tall, heart hammering in his chest, breath caught in his throat, large eyes staring at Colin Moriarty.

The man was lounging against the cabinet that had housed his terminal passcode, legs crossed over one another, arms tucked together over his chest, relaxed. His expression was bored, loose, but the look in his eyes betrayed him.

Ruth saw the same look in the Overseer’s eyes when he had threatened to hurt Amata.

Ruth swallowed.

He wasn’t scared of Moriarty, he told himself. He was younger, quicker, stronger, more on-edge, more prone to attack.

_You’re not as experienced as he is,_ his mind supplies.

His hands start to shake.

“Well.” Moriarty’s voice is light and soft. It catches Ruth off guard. Fear crawls up his spine. “Look what we have here. Would you mind telling me what you’re doin’ here, boy?”

His mouth can’t form words, so he just stares. Moriarty doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Because it looks to me like you’re breaking into my own, _personal_ terminal, after I made the generous offer of helping you find your dear old dad.” The man walks over, not taking his eyes off the younger man’s. “Didn’t your daddy ever teach you not to bite the hand that feeds ya?”

Ruth’s breath hitches. _I’m not scared of this bitch_ , he thinks, curling his hands into fists, but that only makes them shake more. He glances away.

Soft hands grab his chin, light, featherly, guiding him to face Moriarty again. The man is towering over him, a frown on his face, as if he were lecturing a child. “Seems he didn’t teach you any manners. Can’t even answer me.”

“I-” The word is gasped and Ruth’s cheeks flush. He swallows again. “I-I just… I-I wanted… I ne-needed to know where m-my dad… where he is....” He wanted to clench his eyes shut, to pull away, but he doesn’t dare.

Moriarty hums, a smile dancing it’s way onto his face, like he actually finds this whole thing hilarious. “A worthy cause, then.”

A pause.

Ruth nods.

The punch has him pressed up against the shack wall, body sideways, nearly falling out of the chair. His head is exploding. He chokes and sputters on the blood that’s gushing from his nose, gasping for air and then coughing again when he inhales more blood. He sees stars glittering across his vision, blackness around the edges. A gag and another gasp. He can feel tears on his cheeks.

He’s jerked forward, suddenly he’s nose to nose with Moriarty, whose face had contorted with rage. Eyes wide, eyebrows drawn down low, mouth pulled back into a snarl, his teeth bared. The glow of the terminal casts a green light over him, making him look like a Super Mutant.

His breath makes Ruth gag.

“Next time you touch my _shit_  you little _fucker_ I’ll shoot you between the fucking  _eyes_.”

Ruth’s forced backwards, the back of his head slamming into the steel of the wall, then jerked forward again. He’s shaking, on the verge of sobbing, and when his breath hitches again Moriarty shakes him by his collar.

“ _Do you fuckin’ understand me?_ ” Ruth nods. “M’lettin’ you off easy, here,  _boy_ .” The word is spat, spittle hitting Ruth’s face, but he doesn’t dare flinch. “I still expect t’see those caps.” Another nod. “ _Tomorrow_.” Another nod.

Ruth expects him to let him go now, kick him out, or maybe to punch him again, but Moriarty just stares at him with that same look. Long enough that the terminal’s glow had faded, going back it’s lock screen. The room is cast in darkness now. Moriarty doesn’t move.

He’s beginning to feel lightheaded when he’s pulled up to his feet, but he’s not given enough time to find his footing before the back door is thrown open and he has a face full of dirt. Moriarty spits at him, and the door is slammed shut.

It takes Ruth a while to get up.

His arms give way under him the first time he tries and he just lays there, spitting out mouthfuls of blood once in awhile, head spinning. Everything _hurts_ . He’s never been in this much pain, _ever_.

The third attempt works and Ruth sits up on weak knees, takes a minute, vomits, and pushes himself up. He’s lucky the walkways have railing.

He crawls into Doc Church with the glow of the morning sun on his back.


End file.
